"I looked, but…" Phyllida frowned. "Come-let's sit down. We need to discuss this."
"There's nothing to discuss!" Mary Anne wailed. "If I don't get those letters back, my life will be ruined!"
Phyllida towed her to a seat set against the wall. "I didn't say we won't get them back-I promised we would. But there's been a complication."
"Complication?"
"A large one." Over six feet tall and difficult to manage. Phyllida sat on the seat and pulled Mary Anne down beside her. "Now, first, are you absolutely sure Horatio was the one your father sold the writing desk to?"
"Yes. I saw Horatio take it away last Monday."
"And you definitely, positively, hid your letters in the secret drawer in the desk? You haven't by accident left them somewhere else?"
"They were too dangerous to leave anywhere else!"
"And it is your grandmother's traveling writing desk that we're talking about, with the rose leather on the top?"
Mary Anne nodded. "You know it."
"Just checking." Phyllida considered Mary Anne, considered how much to tell her. "I went to Horatio's on Sunday morning to search for the desk."
"And?" Mary Anne waited; then understanding dawned. Horror replaced her panic. Her mouth opened, then closed, then she squeaked, "You witnessed the murder?"
"No, not exactly."
"Not exactly? What does that mean? You saw something?"
Phyllida grimaced. "Let me tell it from the beginning." She related how she'd invented a sick headache, then dressed in boots and breeches-Jonas's castoffs that she often wore when engaged in nonpublic activities that might necessitate running. "Sunday morning was the perfect time because there shouldn't have been anyone at home."
"But Horatio was sick."
"Yes, but I didn't know that. I slipped through the wood and searched that outbuilding he used as his warehouse, then I went in through the kitchen and searched the storerooms. They were filled with furniture as well. I didn't see your grandmother's desk anywhere, so I assumed it was somewhere in the main rooms. I went back through the kitchen, into the hall-"
"And you saw the murderer."
"No. I found Horatio just after he
'd been killed."
"After the murderer had hit Mr. Cynster and left him for dead."
Phyllida gritted her teeth. "No. I got there before Mr. Cynster."
"You saw the murderer hit Mr. Cynster?"
"No!" She glared at Mary Anne. "Just listen."
In the baldest terms, she recounted what had happened. By the time she finished, Mary Anne had traveled from horror-struck to aghast. "You hit Mr. Cynster?"
"I didn't mean to! The halberd tipped and fell-I stopped it from killing him."
Mary Anne's face cleared. "Well, he's obviously recovered. He must have a thick skull."
"Perhaps. But that's not the complication." Phyllida caught Mary Anne's eye. "He knows I was there."
"I thought he was knocked unconscious."
"Not entirely-not at first."